‘What is this? The boy’s fucking textbook?’ Hidumba took the manuscript and turned it over. He shook it to see whether something would fall from it. Gundu Ramu lay moaning near the wheels.
‘Blasted fat man. He made me wait in this ass-soaking humidity for a schoolboy’s textbook,’ Hidumba cursed.
‘That is Sivagami akka’s. Please give it back to me,’ Gundu Ramu whined.
‘Shut up, you devil. Fuck your akka, and fuck you, son of a bitch. Blasted balls of a holy bull, I have been made a buffoon by the fat man.’
‘Give me the book, you dwarf,’ Gundu Ramu cried, trying to get up.
Hidumba kicked Gundu Ramu on his face repeatedly, taking out his frustration on the boy.
‘Some people are coming this way,’ Ranga cried. Hidumba turned to see a crowd running towards them. The fire inside the fort had become an inferno, and people were escaping from the palace grounds through whichever way possible.
‘No point staying here anymore. The fat man will throw his shit next time and we will be standing with our mouth open to catch it. Bloody Pattaraya. Wait till I get back. Boys, lift me into the chariot. Let’s go back home,’ Hidumba said.
‘How about this fat one?’ Ranga asked as he lifted Hidumba into the chariot.
‘Bring him. He will be of some entertainment in the frozen heights of Gauriparvat. He is buttery soft,’ Hidumba said with a wink. Gundu Ramu, covered in blood and bruises, was lifted and dumped near Hidumba.
‘How about this book?’ Ranga asked.
‘Shove it up you know where. On second thoughts…give it to me. The boy seems to prize it. We can use it to make him dance to our tunes,’ Hidumba said. He sat near Gundu Ramu, who shrank back with fear, and started running his pudgy hand over the boy’s body. The chariot shot forward with Gundu Ramu tied and bound in it, heading to the mysterious Gauriparvat, to the land of Khanipathi Hidumba the great.
FORTY-NINE
Kattappa
Shivappa collapsed on the floor. He had tried his best to defeat his brother, but Kattappa had fought like a tiger, bare-handed against the deadliest of swords. He ducked, spun, twisted and rolled, every time the urumi shot out, and in the moments it took for the whip sword to wind back, Kattappa attacked using the ancient martial art of marma vidya. Every time he came in contact, he hit Shivappa’s muscles, making them numb and useless. He managed to prise away the sword from Shivappa’s hands and slammed him to the floor. Shivappa could not even move. When he tried to talk, Kattappa poked his throat with his index finger and after that only gurgling sounds emerged. Kattappa tore Shivappa’s dhoti and tied and bound him with it. There was no need. Shivappa was not in a position to move a finger.
‘You deserve no mercy,’ Kattappa said in a hoarse voice. ‘This is not revenge for stabbing me in the back, brother. I am just doing my duty. I will not allow any traitor to live. You will face trial and—’ Kattappa turned away; his voice choked, ‘—and if they decide to hang you, I…I will do it happily.’
Shivappa wanted to tell him that he had not come to fight, he had not come to rebel. The woman he wanted to marry, the girl with whom he had weaved countless dreams, was getting raped inside by his master. He would have gone away with her, leaving this bloody country and its inhuman practices to rot in its own hell. Why did you stop me, brother? Why? Why? Tears streamed down Shivappa’s eyes, but he could not talk.
Kattappa stood up, bathed in sweat and blood. Though it broke his heart, he had done his duty. He had done his dharma without bothering about the consquences. An ideal slave has to be a karmayogi—those were his father’s words, and he had been true to them. Suddenly, he heard a scream from the floor above.
‘Swami!’ he cried. Was his master in some danger? He jumped to the veranda, ran up the stairs, and reached the door. He could hear sounds of struggle in the room. He hesitated for a moment. Something fell inside. His master had told him not to even come near the door. But as the protector of his master, it was his duty to overrule his master’s orders if his life was in danger. Later, the master could punish or reward him, but now, he had to disobey his master to save him.
He kicked the door open and froze. In the corner of the room, a girl cowered, struggling to cover her nakedness with her bound hands. In front of her, Bijjala was standing with a whip. Bijjala was shocked to see Kattappa. His face contorted with rage.
‘Out, you dog, out,’ Bijjala screamed, snapping the whip.
Kattappa stood transfixed at the door. His first instinct was to obey his master, but the face of the shivering girl, covered in whip welts, made him stop. He removed his dhoti and threw it at the girl. She grabbed it and covered herself. Bijjala roared with anger and approached Kattappa who was standing in his loincloth.
Bijjala cracked his whip on Kattappa, ‘Get lost, you dog,’ he yelled.
Kattappa walked to the girl and stood between her and Bijjala, his hands folded over his chest. His mind was in turmoil. The girl’s eyes were pleading with him to save her. He shivered when he saw her face. Kamakshi—his brother’s lover. It broke his heart. Perhaps Shivappa had come to save her, and he had immobilized his brother. The gods were throwing more tests at him.
‘Leave her there, bastard, and get out before I kill you,’ Bijjala screamed, lashing his whip across Kattappa’s shoulders. It seared his flesh. He suppressed a scream and stood with his eyes closed. The slave was in a dilemma. He was supposed to obey his master without any questions. There was no threat to the life of his master. But his conscience rebelled—he could not leave the girl to be tortured. He decided he would stand there between the girl and his master. He would not defy his master but he would not allow him to hurt her. Bijjala brought down the whip again and again on his slave’s body. The slave stood without moving, his eyes closed as the whip ripped his skin apart. Kattappa could only hope someone would come and stop Bijjala and save the girl before he died. Frustrated that the slave was not moving, Bijjala threw the whip down and tried to push Kattappa away, but the slave stood like a rock. Bijjala was no match for the ox-like strength of Kattappa.
Bijjala took a flower vase that was in the corner and slammed it on Kattappa’s head. It shattered into shards, but Kattappa stood erect, not moving, not even letting out a cry of pain.
Kamakshi watched what was happening to the slave. She knew Kattappa was dying for her. If her mouth was not gagged, she would have pleaded with Bijjala to leave the slave alone and do whatever he wanted with her. She crawled to the window and scrambled up. Bijjala saw her and rushed towards her, but Kattappa moved to obstruct his way. The slave stood still, bleeding from everywhere, but not allowing his master to reach Kamakshi.
Kamakshi looked down and saw the immobile body of Shivappa. He was lying still. In the pale moonlight, he appeared dead. She looked back and saw Kattappa swaying on his legs. Bijjala was punching the slave, trying to bring him down.
Shivappa could hear the noises, but he was helpless and unable to even move. He saw Kamakshi at the window, and when he saw her face, he wanted to scream NO. He watched helplessly as his love jumped from the window. The dhoti of Kattappa flew away and fell near the wall. Kamakshi landed near him, hitting her head first. Her face only a few feet from Shivappa’s. She gave a small smile and extended her fingers to touch him, and then her eyes went lifeless. A trickle of blood crawled from her ears and crept towards her lover.
Shivappa wished he could cry his heart out, but his brother had taken even that faculty from him. His Kamakshi was dead. She was lying so near yet so far, naked and bruised, killed by the man he had always despised. He wished he was dead with her. But he did not have even the freedom to cry. Not even the freedom to die. He saw a glimpse of Bijjala at the window, peering down, and then he saw his brother’s face.
Inside the room, Kattappa collapsed to his knees. What had he done, what had he done, he lamented. He buried his face in his palms. He had done his dharma, he had acted as per his conscience, yet he felt no solace in that fact. Bijjala gave him a
final kick and left the room. Kattappa could hear the heavy tread of his master’s feet. He heard his laughter when he saw Shivappa.
‘Ah, who do we have here?’
Kattappa could hear the dull thud of his master kicking his brother. ‘Why are you crying, you bastard? Was it your girl? Ha, Ha, I have taken your woman, and she was delicious. Now I will see you hang. Take this and this and this,’ he heard Bijjala say as the prince continued to kick his brother.
Kattappa heard the cheers of a few soldiers. He heard the voice of Keki crying out that a coup had been suppressed. He heard Keki exclaim as she found Shivappa. When Kattappa heard Bijjala say about his brother, ‘This bastard slave killed the poor girl and I have captured him’, he started crying. But his sobs were drowned out by the loud cheers of soldiers who were hailing his master for the great act Bijjala claimed to have performed.
FIFTY
Sivagami
Sivagami ran towards the garden. In an open space, maybe she could put up a fight. She could scream for help and say the man was trying to molest her, get an audience with some high officials and then tell them what had happened. But he was gaining on her. She ran, holding the pot close to her bosom, her eyes darting here and there to find a suitable spot to turn around and fight. As she crossed the garden, she tripped over something and fell. The pot flung away from her. She jumped to get it and saw her pursuer closing in. She quickly bent down to get the pot and froze. She had tripped on a headless body lying by the gate. Pratapa jumped over a hedge and ran towards her, brandishing his dagger.
Sivagami took off again and reached the palace grounds where she saw that hundreds of fire-fighters were trying to suppress the raging fire. Part of the fort wall had collapsed and elephants were being used to ram the remaining stones so they could bring water from the river. Finally, with a loud crash, a large portion of the wall fell down. People tried to rush out to save themselves, but the soldiers pushed them back. They did not want the crowd to block the elephants’ path to the water. People ran to the other side, confused about how to escape. Fire was spreading to other parts of the palace and elephants were being used to spray water, aided by men who tried their best to quench the fire. Thick smoke coiled towards the sky and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Sivagami tried to merge with the crowd but found herself being pushed back towards Pratapa. She saw that he had stopped a few feet away from the crowd and was talking to a group of dandakaras. They spread out and she was sure they were after her. She ran blindly to the farthermost part of the palace. Women from various blocks were also running around in panic. Screams and shouts filled the air. She ran past the men busy drawing water from the fountain towards a building that loomed in the shadows. She had to find a place to hide until she could figure out how to escape from the palace.
She skirted the buildings, careful to keep herself in the shadows. After some time, she slowed down to catch her breath. The air was acrid with smoke and ash. A door flung open near her and a dandakara carrying a huge sword came out. For a moment, he froze as he came face-to-face with Sivagami. His sword was dripping with blood. In the swaying flames of the torches on the wall, his face, splattered with blood, looked grotesque. He lunged at her, but she ducked and ran past him.
Sivagami was running blind; she took a random turn and dashed through a half-open door. It was eerily quiet inside the building. And dark. She recognized it as the one she had come to with Uncle Thimma. It was the Antapura, the harem of the maharaja. She heard faint noises of swords clanging from somewhere inside and turned to go back the way she came, but saw that there were dandakaras conferring at the door.
Sivagami ran deeper into the Antapura. In the light of the lone torch that was sputtering at the far end of the corridor, the sight that greeted her was straight out of hell. Bodies were lying prostate in various positions, cleaved limbs, torsos without heads, severed heads in pools of blood. Most were women of the harem, some appeared to be those of males. The rusty smell of blood mixed with the smoke from outside. The faint smells of human excretion and urine hung in the air.
She felt sick and dizzy. From without, the sounds of men fighting the fire were subsiding. Perhaps they had brought the fire under control. That ruled out going outside now. The chances of getting caught were very high. She wondered where Pratapa was—had the dandakara told him she had slipped into this building? As if in answer, a long shadow stretched from the door she had entered.
She moved behind a pillar and prayed the man would go away. Instead, he took a hesitant step inside. From somewhere above, the noise of swords clanging continued, followed by feet tramping down wooden steps. As Sivagami stood behind the pillar, shivering in fear, Pratapa walked inside holding a long sword in his hand. He looked around and stopped when he saw the scene before him. He hesitated for a moment, immersed in thought. Then he stared at the floor. Sivagami felt like kicking herself. He had spotted her footprints on the floor. He began to walk towards the pillar behind which she was hiding. A scream rose from one of the floors above, and Pratapa paused for a moment before continuing towards her. The tip of his sword caught the light from the distant torch and sparkled gold. Sivagami had no choice other than to run upstairs.
She dashed towards the flight of spiral steps and started running up. She could hear the man following her. Round and round and round it went. The steps spiralled to the ceiling and vanished into darkness. She could see at least three landings that led to their respective floors. They were plunged in darkness and looked deserted. She did not want to get caught in a place where Pratapa could easily finish her off. She had no clue what she would do when she had climbed right up to the top. But there was someone on the topmost floor for sure. Pratapa would hesitate to kill her in the open. She glanced back and saw that he was gaining on her. The noise from the swordfight was suddenly clear as she reached the second floor. Pratapa too hesitated when he heard the sounds. Sivagami peered into the landing.
Maharaja Somadeva was fighting a man whose face was masked. Another man was taking on a bald-headed slave with his sword. All over the floor lay the bodies of the dead or dying. She looked down the steps and saw Pratapa was only a few feet away. Her safety lay in revealing everything to the maharaja and giving him the pot, as Skandadasa had said.
‘Your Majesty,’ she yelled, and the man who was fighting the king spun around and swung his sword out at her. It came flashing at her head and she closed her eyes.
‘Sivagami!’ She heard a voice.
She opened her eyes and saw the sword was a finger’s length away from her neck. The masked man’s eyes stared into hers. She did not think. With a yell, she grabbed the sword—the edge cutting into her fingers—and yanked the man down. The masked man had not expected it and he lost his balance. Sivagami watched him tumbling down the steps, past Pratapa. She dropped the sword on the floor and shook her palm in pain.
The masked man collapsed on the last landing and soon she heard many footsteps on the ground floor. Seeing that the maharaja was around, Pratapa slithered down, holding the railing of the spiral staircase, and vanished into the first-floor landing. When she saw Pratapa vanish, Sivagami decided to hold her tongue. The fight was raging on with the huge man facing the maharaja and the slave Malayappa. Sivagami wanted to run away, but the fighters were blocking her path. She quickly reconsidered her options. How would she explain her presence in Skandadasa’s room? She did not want the king to find out about her father’s book. No, much as she wanted the killers of Skandadasa to be punished, she did not want to land in any trouble that would slow down her quest for revenge. She tucked the pot into her kaunchika. This was a golden opportunity—the king was engrossed in the fighting. She tried to pick up the sword from the floor.
The huge man saw what she was doing and, as Sivagami knelt down, he slammed his heel on its hilt. It flew up, and in one swift motion, he caught it with his left hand while fencing off the maharaja’s thrusts. He threw it at the slave. Malayappa twisted away, but the
sword pierced his shoulder, making him stagger and fall.
The maharaja cried, ‘Malayappa!’, and ran towards the fallen slave. The huge man with the mask tried to thrust his sword into the maharaja’s back, but as if he had anticipated it, Maharaja Somadeva deftly stepped aside. The man lost his balance and leaned forward to prevent himself from falling. With a clean sweep of his sword, the maharaja cut off the head of his opponent.
It rolled down, spinning, spilling blood everywhere.
The maharaja knelt before Malayappa, who was struggling to get up. ‘Are you all right? Malayappa?’ Sivagami was surprised at the concern in the king’s voice. Did he really care for the slave so much? Or was it all just an act—like how he had feigned a spontaneous reaction and run towards Malayappa when he had fallen. Sivagami had not missed it.
Maharaja Somadeva pulled out the sword from Malayappa’s shoulder, set it down, and helped the slave sit up. Malayappa’s face was crumpled with pain as he cupped his wound with his palm. The sword was a few feet from Sivagami. She quickly picked it up and raised it above her head to kill the king.
Maharaja Somadeva turned quickly and stared at her and the sword in her hand. A door opened from behind the maharaja and Brihannala walked out. She froze when she saw Sivagami. Sivagami saw a glimpse of a dagger in her hand, but it vanished behind the folds of her saree.
The Rise of Sivagami : Book 1 of Baahubali - Before the Beginning Page 38
